


Stay With Me, Ren

by kyluxtrashcompactor, oorsprong



Series: The Sun In Wintertime [1]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Blood, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-22 23:18:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7457608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyluxtrashcompactor/pseuds/kyluxtrashcompactor, https://archiveofourown.org/users/oorsprong/pseuds/oorsprong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ren captures Hux's hand, squeezing it hard, allowing himself to think of something beyond each tiresome day of battling demons and soldiers and living up to immeasurable expectations. He imagines someone that is truly "here to stay," warm arms to hold him at night, someone to make him smile. Is this what Hux is promising?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay With Me, Ren

**Author's Note:**

> This is a gift for tumblr user [littleststarfighter](http://littleststarfighter.tumblr.com/) inspired by her amazing artwork.
> 
> 7/12 edit: the amazing Pidgy has done some art for this story and it's gorgeous, please check it out [here](http://pidgy-draws.tumblr.com/post/147271244411/i-had-to-draw-something-i-had-to-draw-something)!!

“Stay with me, Ren!”

 

The crack of a gloved hand across skin and bone echoes in the cavernous shell of the empty freighter hull they take refuge in.   A broken, beaten thing; the denizens of the Kuenyf capital stripped the insides, leaving a skeletal interior good enough for taking shelter in and not much else.

 

The knight bleeds from both nostrils, skin waxy and eyes puffy.  He’s shaking.  If he’s going into shock then there will be very little Hux can do about it.

 

“You have to stay with me, don’t you dare close your eyes.”

 

Ren blinks suddenly and Hux despairs at the way his pupils don’t seem to focus on anything.  Outside a battle takes place without a key player.  Two key players, if Hux drops the false modesty act.

 

“You’re not finished here.  My men are  _ dying _ out there and I need you.”

 

Those dark eyes fix on him for the first time, awash in pain.  Ren’s cracked lips part and he exhales something that might be words.  Hux leans forward.

 

Ren blinks up at Hux, whose face is suddenly only inches from his, and he notes the smear of blood across his cheek. Reflexively, Ren's hand moves to wipe it away, but the muscles of his arm do not obey as they should, and so only his fingers twitch. 

 

Hux's words echo in his mind:  _ My men are dying. I need you.  _ All he can focus on, however, is the last part. The part about Hux needing him, and how he's never said that before. About anything. 

 

Why are  _ these _ his thoughts, when he should be pushing past the pain, rising, being a man and a soldier and worthy of the Supreme Leader's trust and faith in him. 

 

Ren grunts, and tries to lever himself up, but not for Snoke. He struggles against the pain for the pale, concerned face hovering over him, for the thought that the concern is for him, and not just for his battle prowess. He struggles for approval in those wide green eyes.

 

Hux is immediately at his side, supporting him with one arm.

 

“Damnit, I don’t know if you should be standing.  Let’s just get you sitting up.  I think you’ve been concussed.”

 

He holds Kylo tightly, urging him up until slumps against his chest.  Better than lying down.  Better than falling asleep.

 

“There’s a droid on the way.  If those blasted insurrectionists haven’t taken it out.  You have to hang on.  You need a brain scan-- hey!”

 

Hux snaps his fingers in front of Kylo’s face as his gaze drifts again.  

 

“Look at me.”  He places a hand on the knight’s cheek and turns it so they are face to face.  “Please don’t lose focus again.”

 

Ren's vision swims, and his head is pounding and feels stuffed with wet cotton. The pain presses against the back of his eyes, and all he wants to do is close them. Just for second. 

 

Hux snaps his fingers again, and Ren jerks his head up from where it is drifting down toward his chest. 

 

"...thought you'd be ... glad to get rid of me," he tries to snarl, but it comes out garbled and weak. He feels sick at his stomach, and his mouth is parched, lips chapped from the acrid smoke they'd only just escaped on the battlefield. 

 

“Yes.  Well.”  Hux runs his fingers gently over Ren’s scalp, checking for blood, and sighing in relief when he finds none.  His thumb traces the hairline, checking for any bumps, then moves to the crown of his head.

 

“Does this hurt?  Is it tender anywhere?”

 

He moves closer to Ren’s face, absently brushing the hair back from his eyes.

 

"Everything hurts," Ren grumbles, though that is not entirely true. The brush of Hux's fingers against his cheek, the way his scalp tingles as the general combs his hair back... that feels good. 

 

Instead of admitting that, he asks: "How the hell are we going to get off this rock? And how was our intelligence so bad?" 

 

He stops just short of blaming Hux for that, though in times past he might have. Right now doesn't seem the moment, after the man had pulled him bodily out of harm's way. It should have been the other way around: Ren protecting Hux. That, after all, was an expectation.

 

“Patience isn’t your strong suit, is it?”

 

Hux is so overwhelmingly relieved that Kylo seems to be coming out of the early effects of the concussion that he even smiles a little; a small tight smile that reaches his eyes.  Blood from the nose is a bad sign, one of the worst, but as long as he keeps him awake and talking until the damned droid gets here…

 

“I can’t ask you to fight in this state.  But the force… can’t you… has your ability been affected?  Can you tell me what’s going on outside?”

 

He takes one of Kylo’s large hands in both of his and squeezes it; mostly for his own comfort, though he wouldn’t dare admit it to Ren.

 

Ren's eyes flick away from Hux's face to stare at the curious sight of their hands wound together, and for a moment he is so intent on studying the freckles spattered across Hux's fingers that he doesn't answer. Another light squeeze brings him back, however, and he casts out to view the battlefield. 

 

He sighs with relief when he takes in the myriad emotions and places them into context: there is relief, pride, indignation, fear, sorrow, and he attributes the latter emotions to the failed enemy combatants. 

 

"We won," he tells Hux, unconsciously squeezing the general's hand in relief.

 

Hux opens his mouth, closes it again, and then closes his eyes.  He leans against Ren momentarily, his heart pounding with hope and elation; forgets himself and slips his arms around Ren so he can bury his face in his shoulder.

 

They’ve won.  He’s going to live.  Ren’s going to live.  For a moment he can only shudder with his face hidden against the knight; strange not-quite sobs that wrack his body.  It’s not crying-- nothing so unbecoming as that-- but a palpable relief that washes over him.

 

“Ren,” he mumbles.  And then he doesn’t say anything.

 

Endorphins flood Ren’s senses, pushing back the ache in his head, and all he is able to do for a moment is take in what is happening. He is less startled by the wave of relief that flows from Hux than by the strange feeling of being connected. He realizes, after sitting dumbly for long seconds, that he has not felt another person’s arms around him since childhood. 

 

Stiffly, awkwardly, he raises one hand and places it at the small of Hux’s back, and then slides it up over the soft black uniform until it comes to rest between his shoulder blades. He tugs him closer, almost greedily, and turns his face into Hux’s neck. He is smearing blood over that pale skin, and on his jacket, but he doesn’t care. 

 

Eyes lidding, he concentrates on the way Hux smells: clean, too clean, like vigorous industrial soap, metallic like smoke and blood, and warm. Following instinct, for that is closest to the surface, he presses his lips just over the pulse-point, feeling the thud of Hux’s heart. Feeling life.

 

“Ren,” Hux says again.  “I’ll have a medical team here immediately.  I just need you to hold on a little longer.  We’ll get you back to the Finalizer.  You’re our first priority--  _ my _ first priority.  I’m in love with you.  We need to get you in contact with the Supreme Leader so you can give him the report, they might think we’re dead down here.  I lost communication with the ship when they blew the relay.   Luckily the short wave communication is still working.  I’ve just sent out another signal for the droid.  Do you think you can stand or do you need a stretcher?” 

 

All these statements tumble from the general’s lips as they’re pressed into Ren’s shoulder, fired off in rapid succession, so that the one admission in all of it seems curiously disguised, or an afterthought. Ren almost questions his head injury, and whether he heard correctly. Hux, in love with him?

 

“What...did you say?” Ren croaks, pulling back so he can look Hux in the face, resisting the effort to delve into his thoughts and simply pull it out. He wants to hear it again. A thousand more times. 

 

“I asked if you could stand.  Do you need a stretcher?”  He avoids Ren’s eyes.

 

Just as the general had done to him minutes before, Ren grips Hux’s chin in bloody fingers and tilts his head so that their eyes are level. 

 

“I can walk. Say it again.” 

 

It sounds more like a plea than a command. It is a wish that has haunted his lonely nights for more years than he cares to remember: not only to be cared for, truly, but by this man. 

 

Hux pointedly turns away and busies himself brushing the dust from his coat.

 

“I’m in love with you,” he says, as though this is of no consequence.  “I’ve been in love with you for a long time.  You either know and don’t care to indulge me or you are wilfully oblivious.  If I lose you I don’t know how I’ll see my way forward.”

 

He settles the coat back around his shoulders and stares intently at a spot on the wall.

 

Not caring and willfully oblivious are neither concepts which apply to Ren. He regards Hux with round eyes and lips parted around words that do not form. A thousand questions race through his mind, like an interrogation sequence:  _ are you sure? When did you first know? Why didn’t you tell me before? Don’t you remember telling me to stay out of your head?  _

 

Ren is better with actions than words, however, and so instead, a hand darts to the coat Hux has only just finished straightening, bunches the cloth in a tight fist, and pulls the general toward him. It apparently startles Hux, for he has to catch his balance by planting a hand over Ren’s thigh, and so the kiss Ren presses to his lips is awkward and slightly off center. 

 

Nevertheless, the sudden and unexpected secret taste of him makes Ren’s blood sing, his skin tingle as though alight from inside, and his breath catch in his throat. 

 

Hux relaxes into the kiss for a moment and then pulls back a little, wiping Ren’s blood from his upper lip.

 

“You’re not thinking straight,” he says softly, but his eyes are pleading.  He cradles the knight’s face in his hands.  “Anyway, you’re in no condition…”

 

Ren searches that green gaze, and the hand still curled in Hux's jacket unclenches. He brushes a thumb across the smear of red on Hux's lip, then lets his fingers trail over the general's smooth cheek. He slides it through soft red hair, mussing it, which makes him smile, because he's wanted to do that for as long as he can remember. 

 

Molding his palm to the back of Hux's head, he pulls him to his lips again, eyes lidding as he tastes the salt of his own blood in the kiss. 

 

“Ren,” Hux murmurs against his lips, letting himself soften against the other so that their bodies push together as close as it’s possible to be without causing the knight any further harm.  He revels at the feeling of Ren’s hands in his hair, caressing his face, pressing them closer together.  The illogical side of himself wants to pull Ren atop him right now but the droid is coming and the med team is coming and Ren’s in no position to be kissed with the vigor Hux would prefer.  He gently parts them, running a finger over those plush lips in apology.

 

“Later,” he promises.  “I’m not going anywhere.  I’m here to stay.”

 

He trusts that Ren will understand his meaning.  His true meaning.

 

Ren captures Hux's hand, squeezing it hard, allowing himself to think of something beyond each tiresome day of battling demons and soldiers and living up to immeasurable expectations. He imagines someone that is truly "here to stay," warm arms to hold him at night, someone to make him smile. Is this what Hux is promising? 

 

Only belatedly, he realizes in his addled state that he is projecting these images, free for Hux to absorb. He regains himself, and suddenly feels incredibly vulnerable, which is startling and new to him. Somehow, though, it feels good. Like a bulkhead that needed to be pierced. It brings a slight flush to his pallid cheeks.

 

“All of that, all for you,” Hux says solemnly, squeezing back.  He’s never had much in the way of personal relationships but Ren’s hopeful gaze makes him want to promise him the galaxy so long as he keeps looking at him that way.

 

They’re interrupted a moment later by the droid who begins to patch Ren up and diagnose him.  The medical team arrives and Hux permits no argument as they load him into a stretcher.

 

“Be safe for me?” he begs Ren, hoping to silence the retort on the other’s tongue.  

 

And he doesn’t let go of his hand.

 


End file.
